


Drama Queen

by AlleiraDayne



Series: Bang Your Head (Metal Health) [21]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Grumpy Alistair, M/M, Modern Era, Modern Thedas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 00:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6448234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair is sick and a big baby about it. Sort of grumpy, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drama Queen

**Author's Note:**

> For Cullistair Week, yesterday's theme was The Grumpy One.

“Just kill me now. Pull the plug. End it. I’m dying. Save yourself.”

Cullen rolled his eyes as he lifted Alistair’s legs and sat down beneath them. “Quit being so damn dramatic, you’ve only got a _cold_.”

“No, it’s the Blight returned! I’m dying! You’ll catch it, too! No, don’t k—”

Cullen leaned in and kissed Alistair, a tender touching of lips that lingered. When they parted, he turned to the table for a large bowl. “It’s damn near inevitable that I’ll get sick, too. I’m counting on my immune system at this point,” he chuckled as he handed Alistair the bowl of soup.

He took it from him, lifting it up to his nose and sniffing. His brow furrowed as he asked, “What is it?”

Cullen folded his arms across his chest. “Will you just eat? I’m not trying to kill you.”

Alistair picked up the spoon, shoveling a dumpling into his mouth. “Oh wow, this is great. Did Mal make it?”

“I can cook, you know,” he huffed. “Quite well, in fact.”

“Sooooo, Mal gave you the recipe to her chicken dumpling soup?”

“Yes, last year—wait, you’ve had it before?” Cullen snapped.

Alistair nodded as he continued to eat. “She used to make it for us all the time. She cooked quite a bit in college. Had her own place. Her parents set her up there,” he explained.

“Huh,” Cullen mused. “She’s never spoken very highly of her parents.”

“They’re rich prats, that’s all,” Alistair continued. “She hardly knew them. Went to boarding school most of her life. Ugh, take this, I need a tissue again.”

Cullen took the bowl from Alistair and traded it for the box of tissue from the coffee table. Several trumpet-like blasts later, his puffy-faced lover sighed in frustration, no relief to be found.

“Where does it all come from?”

“What?” Cullen asked.

“All this … mucus. Urgh, it’s gross,” Alistair hissed. “How can you stand being around me like this? I’m a puddle of phlegm. No, don’t cuddle with me, you’ll die!”

“Stop whining, I’m trying to comfort you,” Cullen insisted as he laid down on his side beside Alistair. Maker, but the man was a complete baby while sick. “You have a fever and it needs to break, so I’m going to help keep you warm.”

Alistair grimaced such a scowl, Cullen wondered if he truly felt that bad. “Fine. You may stay. But no singing! My head is going to explode,” he groaned.

“I promise I will not—” Cullen began but the door to his apartment burst open, interrupting him as Amallia and Amodisia entered, clad in swim suits fresh from the lake. Amodisia dropped her large beach bag by the counter and Amallia stalked to the back of the couch, leaning over to kiss Cullen on the forehead.

“How is he doing? I see you’ve gotten some soup into him,” she commented.

“Still got a fever,” Cullen said as he touched Alistair’s cheeks.

“Take care of Sia for me, Mal. I’m not long for this world,” Alistair groaned. “Be good to her!”

A laugh was all she could manage as she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead as well. “Maker, you are burning up. I’ll get some anti-inflammatories for you.” With that, she stalked off to the bathroom.

Amodisia rounded the couch and knelt by Alistair’s head, cupping his cheek. “Feeling any better?”

“No.”

“Really?” she asked with a scrutinizing glare.

“Yes. I’m dying, Sia. Dyyyyyying,” Alistair groaned and Cullen had to press his face into his chest, silent laughter shaking his entire body.

“Has he been like this all day?” Amodisia asked as she stood.

With another short laugh, Cullen replied, “Yes. Groaning and whining and complaining the entire time.”

Amallia returned with a full glass of water and four large pills. “Sit up a second and take these.”

Alistair pouted, the image of petulance. “What’s the point? I’m not going to make it anyway.”

“I will sit on you and force these pills down your throat if you do not take them yourself, Ali,” Cullen admonished.

“I’ll let him, too. Don’t think I’ll save you,” Amodisia chided.

“Fine!”

Water and pills downed, Alistair slumped back on the couch with a huff, and Cullen had to admit the man looked exhausted. As he sat up and stood, he spoke. “Let’s give him some time to rest. We’ll be next door, okay?”

“Oh, great, now you’re _leaving_ me. I see. Abandon the dying man on his death bed. Such a wonderful family.”

“Ali,” Amallia stated flatly with a glare.

“ _What_?”

“Go to sleep,” she replied.

Scrunched nose and hackles pulled up, Alistair growled a second before flopping over to his side. “Fiiiiiine.”

“Just call us if you need anything,” Amodisia soothed as she kissed his cheek and ran a hand through his hair. “Phone is right here on the table.”

“Yes, mother.”

* * *

 

Hours later, the three of them sat on Amallia’s couch, Cullen rubbing Amodisia’s feet and Amallia playing with her hair, her head in her lap.

“Should we check on him?” Amodisia asked, letting her book fall to her stomach.

Cullen shrugged, hands pausing in the middle of her foot rub. “He hasn’t called. Let the man sleep.”

“He was incredibly warm earlier,” Amallia said as she continued to run her fingers through Amodisia’s hair. “And he looked exhausted. Probably best to leave him be.”

Amodisia nodded with a twitch of her foot and Cullen resumed as she returned to her book. “I suppose …”

A loud thump reverberated through the floor followed by distant hollering. The three of them looked to each other, Amodisia peering over her book to Cullen, and then to Amallia. He looked over his shoulder at the door, then checked his phone.

In wordless agreement, they left the couch and made for the door, Cullen pulling it wide. Another thump followed by another whooping shout stopped them short at his door, Cullen turning back to look at them.

“What the hell was that?” Amodisia hissed.

“I think I have an idea,” Cullen mumbled with a smile as he opened the door as quietly as he could. Silent and swift, they snuck into the apartment, rounding the corner to the living room.

There Alistair sat up on the couch, controller in hand as the character on the screen moved, obeying his commands. Sword slashes and shield blocks, the warrior carved a path through grotesque demons, and Alistair shouted once more.

“Alistair, what in the world—”

His shout rose to a shriek in a split second, and it was a small miracle none of the glass in Cullen’s apartment shattered. When he’d spoken, Alistair had jumped clear off the couch, blanket falling to the floor and the controller flung atop it.

“Don’t _do_ that!” he shouted.

Amallia had an arm wrapped around her stomach and a hand covering her mouth as her body shook with laughter. And Amodisia glared, shaking her head in disapproval.

“Feeling better?” Cullen asked.

“Oh yes, quite, now that you’ve scared the piss out of me, I think the virus went with it,” Alistair snapped, sarcasm dripping from every word. “ _No_ , I’m not feeling better.” He returned to the couch with a disgusted grunt as he picked up the controller and blanket.

Cullen rounded the couch at his feet and stopped. “Not even a little bit?”

Alistair glowered at him, annoyed. “ _No_.”

An exaggerated sigh heaved Cullen’s shoulders as he looked to Amallia and Amodisia with a devious grin. “Alright. I guess I have no choice.”

“Wait, wha—ah! Get off me!”

Wrapped up in his arms, Cullen tackled Alistair back on the couch, forcing him to lay down. He squirmed beneath him, attempting to wriggle free as Cullen let his full weight rest on him. Little frustrated grunts coupled with futile hands and arms to push Cullen away, until Alistair stilled beneath him, defeated.

“I don’t suppose you’ll get up if I ask nicely,” Alistair muttered.

“Nope.”

“How about if I ask not nicely?” he jested.

“Ah, no,” Cullen replied. “Although,” he continued, cheek pressed against his, “Your fever seems to have broken.”

Alistair’s heavy sigh signaled defeat. “Alright, _fine_. Yes, I feel better.”

Cullen lifted himself up to his forearms. “Was that so hard?”

There was no doubt that Alistair was feeling better, for an impish smirk hooked the corner of his lips.

“Do you want an honest answer or an innuendo?”


End file.
